


An Unfortunate End for the Cake

by ofhauntings



Category: Lockwood & Co. - Jonathan Stroud
Genre: (at least in my canon), Birthday, Forgotten Birthday, Gen, Oops, aka: anthony lockwood actually isn't the worst friend in the world
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-22
Updated: 2016-09-22
Packaged: 2018-08-16 15:36:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8107966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ofhauntings/pseuds/ofhauntings
Summary: He wasn’t bothered. Not in the slightest, no matter what you think. I mean, sure. He would have /liked/ a birthday cake. A few candles, maybe a song-- nothing fancy. Presents weren’t even necessary (though they certainly wouldn’t have been rejected). Just some sort of acknowledgement from his friends. /That’s it./
-- It's finally George's birthday, but it seems that no one in 35 Portland Row can spare a glance at the calendar. Typical of his friends, but still. He expected /something./ Little does he know that he friends are actually elaborate schemers. --
-- 100% self indulgent platonic relationship building. thank you to @theladysherlock on tumblr for helping me with the idea --





	

He wasn’t bothered. Not in the slightest, no matter what you think. I mean, sure. He would have liked a birthday cake. A few candles, maybe a song-- nothing fancy. Presents weren’t even necessary (though they certainly wouldn’t have been rejected). Just some sort of acknowledgement from his friends. That’s it. 

“Oh, by the way, Happy birthday George. Now can you pass the jam? No-- the strawberry-- thanks old sport.”

“Oh dear! I completely forgot about your birthday George, I’m so sorry. How could I possibly make it up to you? Cake? Presents? Dusty old books? Anything you want! Anything at all!”

Again, nothing fancy. 

But none of that happened, and it wasn’t bothering George in the slightest. Not one bit. He was used to his friends being… well, Lucy and Lockwood.

That morning, Lockwood was his usual, peppy self. All grins and jokes and unbridled optimism, though none of that was directed toward the calendar date. Lucy was still trying to rub sleep from her eyes throughout breakfast, evidently not having slept well the night before. A nightmare, but that wasn’t anything out of the ordinary for any of them. Holly wasn’t around. Lockwood said she’d asked for the day off and might come by later to sort all of their calls at the end of the day. 

All in all, a very normal, ordinary day. 

George, being completely and one hundred percent fine, didn’t mind one bit.

“You haven’t made fun of one thing I’ve said all morning, George.” Lockwood eventually noticed, quirking a brow as he spread jam on his toast. “Are you feeling alright?”

George grunted in response, mumbling a grumpy, “Fine.” while spreading a mound of butter onto an already soaked piece of bread. He imagined Lockwood and Lucy exchanging glances, but didn’t look up from his breakfast to actually see. It’s not like being moody was anything new. They wouldn’t think much of it.

Lockwood, of course, quickly moved on to the next subject in an attempt to lift George’s spirits. No mention at all of the significance of the day. No pat on the back. His best friend was only turning 17, after all. It wasn’t so important.

To be fair, though, birthdays became a sort of melancholy affair after a while for Agents. Every birthday before was big and important and joyful, mostly because, as an Agent, making it through another year in one piece wasn’t exactly statistically in your favor.  
Fifteen is a big year because that’s around the time an Agent in training will get their full licence. A shiny new rapier wrapped in colorful paper, nearly poking your dad’s eye out within the first few minutes of unwrapping it, piercing holes into your mum’s sweaters within another day-- it was a fine tradition. Lots of happy memories.

However, becoming another year older after that was just a reminder of what happens when you got older. Your Talent starts to fade, your usefulness in any capacity is questionable, and you slowly become that thing you disliked for the majority of your teen life: an adult.

Still, it was normal to at least acknowledge birthdays. Statistics still weren’t in your favor until you hit something around nineteen or twenty years old, so making it around the sun was a feat not to be kicked under the rug. Not that anyone in this house seemed to care.

.... Okay, maybe George was a little cross about it. It’s just that he’d just been expecting something when he came downstairs that morning. Anything. Guess that’s what he got for being optimistic like Lockwood. Pessimism seemed just fine by him now, thank you very much.

Their current case quickly took over the thoughts and actions of the household once breakfast was finished. Even though they wouldn’t be able to actually go and visit the haunted area for another two days, Lockwood sent George off the the archives almost immediately. You want more alone time with Lucy, right? Typical. As long as they didn’t start snogging on his desk he didn’t care. In less than ten minutes, he was out of the house. Good riddance.

\----------

Once dinnertime came around, George felt his stomach growl unattractively. Putting down the newspaper and magnifying glass he’d been using, he ran a hand through his hair in a very Lockwood-esq manner, sighing and looking at the clock as he sunk into the chair like a reverse beanbag. Only a few more hours left for someone to take a passing glance at the calendar…

Suddenly, realization and determination gleamed in his eyes. You know what? To hell with it. I’ll throw myself a party. There’s no reason to be broody on your birthday. Not when you had 10 pounds in your pocket and a bakery on the way home.

George shook his head clear and stood up, quickly gathering his papers into messy folders, shoving them into his back pack, and waddling out of the library with a grin on his face. He had his cab drop him off at Arif’s store to buy himself a little cake, then walked the rest of the way home. It was just chocolate with plain white frosting, but he wasn’t picky when it came to cakes. By the time he reached 35 Portland Row, he’d already taken a few messy bites with nature’s silverware, licking frosting off his fingers before he turned the door handle and stepped inside the house.

Mid lick, George stopped dead in his tracks. The lights were off, the house was quiet, and a distinct wrongness was in the air. He swallowed and slowly shuffled over to the umbrella basket where a spare rapier was sitting. Cake balanced in one hand, he stretched over with the other toward the iron hilt. Dark thoughts about the condition of his friends began to flood his mind, but before he could even get a decent grip--

“SURPRISE!”

The hall light clicked on, making George jump three feet out of his skin and throw his cake into the air. His eyes adjusted and he soon realized that he was seeing Lucy, Holly, and Lockwood staged in the hallway, grinning and laughing at his reaction, not some awful ghost.

“I’m… you...” George blinked, mind stalling.

“Happy Birthday, George!” Holly said sweetly, hands folded in front of her and smile stretching across her face. She’d only slightly twitched at the mess of chocolate cake on the brand new carpet. Her self control was impressive.

“What, you didn’t think we forgot, did you?” Lucy said next, her grin almost rivaling Lockwood’s in terms of brightness. “Who do you take us for?”

Speak of the devil, he strode right up to George and put a firm hand on his shoulder, snapping George’s mind back into motion. “Idiots, probably. Sorry we had to ignore you all day, George. Hols was off buying decorations and food and we had to get you out of the house so we could get everything ready.”

George just stared at him and blinked again. “... You guys threw me a surprise party?” He clarified, quirking an eyebrow. He sounded unimpressed, but deep down there was emotion stirring and bubbling up inside of him that he didn’t seem to have much control over.

“No, we just decided on a whim to scare the wits out of you and ruin your lovely cake. Er-- well, I say lovely...” Lockwood glanced at the mess, then grinned as he took George’s arm. “Come on, come on! We made you a better cake ourselves. Well, I say we. It was mostly Holly and Lucy. They wouldn’t let me near. I did the decorations.”

Inside the kitchen it looked like a tornado of pinatas had whirled through and then proceeded the throw up on everything that could possibly support a streamer. That was Lockwood’s contribution, of course. On the table there was a two-tiered chocolate cake with little frosting ghosts and GEORGE in big green letters on the side. The cake’s namesake couldn’t help but let his jaw drop.

“Wow, this is actually impressive.” His voice almost wavered a bit. The emotions in his chest threatening to overflow. Lockwood grinned at the compliment, obviously very proud of his decorating skills.

Lucy, the most sensitive of them all, glanced over and noticed an extra glint in George’s eyes. “Are you crying, George?” She asked incredulously, a smirk playing on her lips.

“No!” He retorted quickly and grumpily, turning away and taking of his glasses to wipe them on his shirt. “You’re all just idiots, and I’m allergic to idiocy.”

A collective ‘aww’ sounded around the room and Holly was the first one to wrap George up in a big hug, topped off with a peck on the cheek. Said cheeks now had small dots of red in the middle of them, which George attempted, in vain, to hide. 

Lucy just laughed and joined in before Holly could pull away, thankfully sparing him a kiss. She squeezed him tight, making his growing pout look even poutier as his cheek pressed onto her shoulder. Before she could let go, Lockwood joined in as well. His arms, the longest of all of them, wrapped around the whole bundle and held them together in a big group hug. Hols and Luce giggled while George continued to try and be upset, which seemed to be becoming a harder and harder task as time went on.

Mercifully, they eventually let him go, leaving George ruffled, red faced, and with his glasses askew. Despite his projected discomfort, he smirked sheepishly as he pushed his glasses back up his nose.

“You’re all absolute duffers,” He grumbled. “... but thank you. I honestly thought you all forgot. I bought myself a cake and everything, as you all promptly ruined.”

Lockwood shook his head sadly. “And what an unfortunate end your poor cake met. But the good news is that Holly and Lucy’s cake is top notch! We also got donuts from Arif’s and popcorn and biscuits… all of your favorites!”

George’s eyes threatened to prickle again, but he held back the emotions that threatened to pool over. Tearing up once in week was too much. Twice in one day was unimaginable.

It was easy, sometimes, to feel alienated in this household. No one appreciated George’s experiments or constant research into the Problem. He was rude and teasing and prodding to his only friends in the world, but it was times like this that reminded George that he really was wanted here by these people. He was the glue that kept them all together, as Lockwood said in his toast later that evening, and without him, the company surely would have never gotten off the ground in the first place.

“To George! Our fearless researcher.” Lockwood said loudly, turning to gestures toward the birthday boy. “You’re my oldest and my best friend, and I probably wouldn’t be here at all if it wasn’t for you. Thank you.” Lockwood said, raising his glass with a grin. The girls did the same.

“Here here!” They said in unison.

A rare, genuine Cubbins smile spread across his face; the little spots of red on his cheeks still visible.

Now if they could just treat him like a king every day of the year, they might be get somewhere.


End file.
